


the only heaven i'll be sent to (is when i'm alone with you)

by somethingradiates



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Blasphemy, M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-30
Updated: 2015-01-30
Packaged: 2018-03-09 16:42:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3257051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somethingradiates/pseuds/somethingradiates
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>I hope the gods are watching,</i> Floki mumbles, and he says it into Ragnar's mouth like he wants him to swallow it, like he wants to drown him in it, but for once - for once - Ragnar pulls back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the only heaven i'll be sent to (is when i'm alone with you)

_I hope the gods are watching,_ Floki mumbles, and he says it into Ragnar's mouth like he wants him to swallow it, like he wants to drown him in it, but for once - for once - Ragnar pulls back.

“Floki,” he says, sharp and uncertain and above all that _surprised_. Floki sits back on his heels and giggles, delighted, delighted at Ragnar's shock and his own blasphemy, his own daring. 

"I do," Floki says baldly, rests his elbows on his knees and looks up at Ragnar like he’d never have a reason not to look him in the eye. Like he shouldn’t be ashamed. 

(He lets Ragnar take him like a woman, but he takes Ragnar like a woman would take him, too, nails dragging down his broad back and gasping his name into his ear like an oath: _Ragnar, Ragnar, Ragnar_. Like his Lagertha takes him. Floki wonders sometimes if that tempers Ragnar’s shame, if that knowledge is what lets him look Floki in the face outside of all of this, when Floki deigns to come into the village.) 

“Come here,” Ragnar says gruffly, pulls him up again by the back of his shirt, and Floki lets him - always lets him, has always, will always - kisses him hard on the mouth, harder than Ragnar likes so he’ll bite him in retaliation. “Don’t say such things.” He says it against Floki’s lips, barely moves his own. Perhaps he knows it’s a losing battle. He should, by now, but Ragnar has never been good at recognizing a loss. 

“I do,” Floki repeats, and says it this time against the hot skin under his jaw. “I hope they see,” against his neck, the bare warm skin where his shoulders become his chest, and his voice quiets as he continues down: “I hope they see you as I see you,” mouths down his chest to his belly, shifts so that he’s no longer sitting back on his heels but resting on his knees. 

_Floki,_ Ragnar says, and if it were anyone but Ragnar, Floki might think they sound desperate. 

“I hope they hear you as I hear you,” he adds, glances up at him again. He isn’t expecting that Ragnar is watching him but he is, careful - as though he’s studying him - sea-ice eyes watching him deliberately, eyes trailing to where one of Floki’s spider-hands rests on either thigh, then back to his grinning face. Floki smiles - to himself, this time, satisfied - and licks a stripe from one of Ragnar’s hip-bones to the edge of the hair at the base of his belly. “And taste you as I taste you. What a fine thing it would be for them.” 

“Floki,” Ragnar repeats again, twists the hand in the back of Floki’s shirt - he had forgotten about it, almost. Floki huffs out a laugh against Ragnar’s skin, reaches in to unlace his trousers with long clever fingers. 

(They had shaken the first time, many years ago. They’re steady, now. He can’t imagine them being anything but.) 

“I hear you,” Ragnar says, belated, when Floki is taking him to the root and breathing out little moans as he does. “I see you.” He’s settled back in his chair but he’s watching, still, stroking his fingers over the back of Floki’s neck as though he’s petting a cat, regal as a Jarl. “And I taste you, too, as you taste me. Is that not enough for you?” 

There’s a note of teasing in his voice but Floki isn’t sure that he believes it - knows Ragnar too well to trust that it’s all in jest, can catch the wonder behind it. He pulls back, swipes the back of his hand over his mouth - and he means to make some jape about Ragnar asking him questions while Floki services him, about where his mind truly lies, about perhaps Floki’s skills are not what he thought they were - but instead, he says, more quietly than even he himself expects, “It is enough. More than enough.” 

Ragnar lets his hand drift from the nape of Floki’s shirt to the back of his head, fingers carding through his close-cropped hair. “Floki,” he says, and when Floki glances up once more he’s smiling, lazy and proud, letting it stretch across his face like sunshine. Floki returns it, tosses it back at him sharper and quicker, and returns to his task; even if Ragnar doesn’t want the gods to see them, Floki is determined that they should, at least, hear them.


End file.
